I Love You, I Hate You
by EvanescingSky
Summary: In which England goes to confess his love to France, with whom he has been having casual relations with for months. Even armed with love advice from Belgium, it doesn't exactly go as planned...


Instead of continuing my other story, I decided to write this! (Jk, I will finish the other one) Just a one-shot. Enjoy! And it you like and want more-REVIEW! It feeds my pitiful ego, which I keep in a thimble with my sense of self-worth.

* * *

><p>I Love You, I Hate You, I Love You<p>

"Hey Belgium? May I, um, speak with you?" England asked hesitantly.

"Sure England," she said, turning to him with a bright smile, her light blonde hair swishing with the movement. They moved off to the side of the room as the rest of the World Conference exited the meeting hall. England waited until the last person had left and the door swung shut with a hollow sound to speak.

"I wanted to ask you about…um…well…there's this guy," England began, feeling his ears begin to turn red and fixing his eyes on his feet.

"_Bonjour, _Angleterre_!"_

"_Get away from me, Frog! What are you doing here anyway?" England turned his face away so France couldn't see him blush._

"_Ah, your words are like knives! I just wanted to see my adorable _Angleterre_," purred France, flashing that hatefully beautiful smile and ruffling England's hair. He planted a kiss on the other country's cheek and ignoring England's weakening protests, dragged him into a hug from behind. "Do tell me you're free tonight, won' t you?"_

"A guy?" repeated Belgium, immediately recalling the teasing between America and England during the meeting today. They were so cute; it was about time England knocked some sense into oblivious America. "That's great!" She smiled again and patted England on the shoulder. "Do you need advice or something?"

"Well…" England shuffled his feet, embarrassment searing his face and anxiety twisting in his gut. "I was kind of hoping for a little. I wasn't sure who else to ask…I don't know how to tell him how I feel," he finished, looking up at her.

"I think the best thing you could do would be to keep it simple," Belgium said, gesturing with her hands. "Bring him some flowers or something and just come out with it."

"_Get off me! It's too hot," England groaned, pushing France back over to his side of the bed. "I'm sweating just lying here!"_

_France grinned deviously and nibbled on England's collarbone, pressing his lips against the pale skin. England gave a high-pitched yip and goose-bumps broke out over his skin. He felt his face flush with heat at the Frenchman's touch._

"_What are you doing?" he demanded, jerking away and pulling the sheets up over his bare torso. He was glad it was dark, despite the moonlight flooding through the large window, so France couldn't see how red England's face was._

"_Cooling you off, cheri," France said with a grin._

"_Stop it! You're such a wanker!"_

"_And yet you're the one in my bed," France pointed out, waving a hand fluidly through the air. "So you must enjoy 'wankers', as you say so crudely."_

"_Shut up! I'm going to sleep!" England yanked the covers over his shoulder and rolled over so his back was to France. Never mind how hot it was; if he kicked the covers off again, France would be on him like a bee on honey. And then England would get no sleep. _

"Just like that?" England asked blankly. The prospect was terrifying.

"Yeah! I think I know who you're talking about," Belgium continued, winking at the blushing Englishman. "And I'm sure he likes you too. He's just a little clueless about it."

"Really?" France, clueless about love? Perhaps he knew more about _lust_ than actual love. Maybe he just needed to learn how to care about someone instead of kissing them up. England would be more than glad to tread those paths with him.

"_Com_-pletely!" chirped Belgium. "You guys fight all the time but everyone can tell you actually care about each other." A ringing interrupted them and Belgium flipped open her phone, scanning the screen quickly. A smile pushed its way onto her face and she closed it, looking back up at England. "I have to go. Good luck though!" She gave England a quick hug. "Tell me how it goes!" she called, hurrying out the door.

"This is barmy," England muttered as he browsed flowers in a florists' shop. "Just…say it, just like that? Blimey, if it were that easy I would have done it already!" The nation shook his head, irritated beyond belief with himself and with the alluring Frenchman.

Damn France was always distracting him! Even when he was miles away! Just the other day England had been trying to teach America the proper way to build a warship but stupid France kept popping up in his head. He'd fall silent for minutes on end, picturing the last time he'd been with France or imagining some new scene where France handed him a brightly colored flower and declared his undying love until America said "Dude?" and brought him back to reality.

England grabbed a bunch of roses (Those were France's favorite, right?) and purchased them. He couldn't stop the bud of breathless joy that swelled in his chest at the idea of declaring himself to France. He could just picture it: He handed over the flowers, France would get all teary-eyed like the drama queen he was and then he would take England into his lean muscled arms and hold him and kiss him…

"Sir? Excuse me, sir? You're holding up the line."

"Huh? Oh, pardon me! I am sorry," England apologized hurriedly to the cashier, stepping out of the way, his face burning. Stupid France, he was doing it again!

"_What do you want, France?" England asked sulkily, not looking at France. _

"_I just wanted to say hello." France leaned forward and kissed England's throat, ignoring the Englishman's bad mood. "What's the matter, _mon cher_?"_

"_Nothing you need to trouble yourself with," England assured him moodily. If France didn't know, England surely wasn't going to tell him. _

"_Oh, I know what's wrong!" France trilled. From his coat he withdrew a reservation to one of the finest restaurants in Paris. "You thought I forgot your birthday, didn't you _Angleterre_?" _

_England looked at the reservation paper, feeling emotion well up inside him. _He remembered! France remembered my birthday! And he got us such fine reservations! _His mood was instantly forgotten as elation pulsed through him. France did care!_

"_Of course I wasn't upset about a stupid thing like that! It's just that…America's been really annoying today," England protested aggressively, inwardly dying at the thought of France knowing how much his apparent apathy had wounded him._

"_Methinks the lady doth protest too much," France sang much to England's annoyance. He crossed his arms and scowled as France threw his arm around England's waist and started to lead him off down the road. But he didn't pull away._

"France, I love you. France…I know we've been fooling around for a while…France, I brought you these roses because I love you. France, you've got the most incredible eyes…Your hair is so amazing…" England trailed off, forgetting that he was supposed to be preparing his speech to France. "And when you touch me, my heart leaps like it wants to jump out of my chest," he went on, talking to himself as he walked towards France's house, his eyes fixed on the starry sky, meandering about like a silly village girl mooning over her man. "When you talk, I love your accent, and nothing else even registers to me but your voice. I love listening to you talk, even about the most banal things. Every time I tell you I hate you, I really want you to kiss me and tell me to stop being barmy. I love everything about you and I want you to be mine forever and ever and ever!" His voice took on a lilt to it and he practically sang the last few words in a whisper as he restrained himself from dancing down the sidewalk. He almost forgot himself entirely and twirled around a lamppost. He contented himself with murmuring France's name over and over like a mantra. It sounded so _nice_. France. What an incredible name. The most beautiful sound England had ever heard, he was sure.

"_France? France? Where are you?" England called. He swung his legs out of bed and tugged on a pair of trousers as he stumbled out of the bedroom. He searched the whole place to no avail. "Damn you France!" he swore. "Gone again! Fine! Go! Get out of my house, you stupid frog!" He slumped down on the couch. "I don't care."_

_If France wanted to bail out every morning before England woke, what business of it was his? It's not like they were together, because they weren't. This was not a relationship. It was, as France had put it so crassly, "Screw buddies". So England had no call to be disappointed that France didn't stick around for breakfast._

England raised his fist to knock on France's door and then hesitated. France never thought twice about coming right into his house, even slipping into the shower with him (nearly scaring England to death!). Why shouldn't England be allowed to take the same liberties?

Slowly, he opened the door with a creak. The house was silent and England checked his watch. 10:34! How did time slip by so fast? He shouldn't have wasted so much time getting ready! He crept through the corridors with no sign of his love. At last he came to the door of France's bedroom. _Do I dare? _Taking a deep breath, England pushed the door ajar. There was a lump in the bed where France was snoozing. A warm, excited feeling swept through him, seeing France lying there. He was really going to do this.

Quietly, England unlaced his boots and removed them, along with his socks, setting them by the doorway. Putting the flowers on the bedside table, he climbed under the covers and, in a show of affection and daring most unlike him, put an arm around France's waist, pulling him close. Except it wasn't France.

Even before this became clear, England though France's skin was a bit softer than usual, his curves a bit more pronounced that normal. The girl let out a shriek and sat bolt upright.

"What is it, cherie?" cried France from the other side of the bed, fumbling to turn on the light. Both of them were completely unclothed. Cherie? What was France doing calling this girl cherie? That's what he called England! He was using England's pet name for some…girl! Some street slut!

"England?" Belgium cried, clutching the sheet over her chest, her face thrown into relief by the light. "What in God's name are you doing?

"_Angleterre_?"

"Belgium?" stammered England. "Y-you…and France?" His heart was aching too badly for him to even be concerned with how humiliating this was. It felt like someone had just thrust a pick-axe into his chest.

A look of understanding dawned on Belgium's face. "Oh…England, I didn't know!" she cried. England stumbled out of the bed, flowers and shoes forgotten. "I swear I didn't!"

"Right," England managed, trying to retain what was left of his dignity. His breathing was coming much too fast and the room felt like it was spinning. "Um, sorry for bothering you then. I'll just be going…" And he backed out the door before taking off at a run.

"Wait! England!" Belgium wailed.

"What's going on?" France exclaimed, looking out the window to see England sprinting into the darkness beneath the gathering clouds.

"Oh, France! I've really messed up this time!" Belgium cried. "He asked me today about advice for a guy he liked…I thought he meant America!" France was silent, so Belgium added, "He's in love with you, France!"

"Oh, non," France groaned, biting his thumbnail.

"We have to go find him!" Belgium leaped out of bed and scrambled to get her pants and shirt thrown on. France followed suit and the two ran out into the night, their bare feet slapping against the pavement.

"England!"

"_Angleterre_!"

"England!" Belgium bellowed as loud as she could.

"Ai! I stepped on a rock!"

"Focus, France!"

Finally Belgium heard a door slam and saw a foot disappear into a nearby apartment building. She ran up the steps and grabbed the door handle, but when she pressed on it, it wouldn't open.

"France, help me with this door!" she panted. France limped up behind her, jiggled the handle and then let go.

"_Angleterre_, open the door," he said, sounding as stern as France could manage. There was a long moment of silence. "I know you're there!"

"…Go away, please," England replied in a muffled voice from the other side of the door. His chest felt tight and breathing was difficult. Tears welled in his eyes but he fought them back.

"Let us talk to you," Belgium entreated him. "Please, I swear I didn't know you were talking about France! I thought you meant America!"

"America? He was my little brother!" England cried in dismay. "He's way too young for me!"

"Well just the way you both acted," Belgium mumbled shyly. "I thought you meant him."

"Please, _Angleterre_, just open the door. I never thought you felt like this," France added.

"…Fine. Just…give me a minute, okay?" England let go of the door handle and then ran down the hallway, skidding around a banister, flew down the stairs and banged out the back door.

"England?" Belgium eased the door open to find the hallway empty. "Oh, crumbs! He's gone!"

"Belgium," France said wearily. "I don't think we're going to find him. He doesn't want our company. Let's go back and let him cool off a little."

Belgium gave a dejected sigh and followed France. "This is all my fault," she mourned. "How could I have been so blind? Why didn't I ASK who it was? Why did I assume? Why didn't he ring the damn doorbell!"

"I do not know," France said softly. He shook his head. "I never knew he felt like that…I should have paid more attention," he finished. "I wouldn't have played around so much if I had known it meant something to him."

"Nobody knew," Belgium tried to comfort France. "And by the way…your fly is down."

"Well your shirt's undone," France retorted, zipping up his jeans. Belgium fixed her shirt but it hardly mattered since they undressed and went back to bed as soon as they got back to France's, both letting out troubled sighs as they pulled the now cold covers up.

A mechanical beep rang through the room.

"Angleterre_? I know you're hurt…I swear I never knew you felt that way. Why didn't you tell me? Anyway, I know it's late but please call me back. I want to be sure you haven't done anything crazy. I never intended to injure you, I promise." _

The sound of France hanging up seemed desolate in the dead silence of the night.

"Why? Why? Why am I so STUPID?" England screamed, kicking his dresser. The throbbing pain that shot through his foot helped distract him from his heart, which he was sure was breaking. The agony of it came in waves as each fissure created by the sight of his beloved in bed with Belgium deepened. "I must be the biggest fool on the planet!" He slammed his fist into a wall and slid down to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. "God damn it," he breathed, cradling his hand in his lap. "I love him so much…I love him so much…I'm the bloody wanker!" He covered his face with his hands. "He's been using me all this time and I knew it! How could I fall in love with him?"

The empty room held no answer. England collapsed in a sobbing heap on his floor, his head resting on discarded clothing from his preparations earlier. Remembering them only made him cry harder, the splitting pain in his chest more pronounced.

"Oh, France, France, France," he whimpered. "I love you France. I love you and I hate you for it. But I hate myself more for loving you."

* * *

><p>I don't support England being paired with anyone, but I happen to support him hurting over someone who doesn't love him back. Is it sick? Yeah, kinda. Do I have an excuse? I'm Irish. What can I say?<p> 


End file.
